Something in Common
by sydiy5bea
Summary: The Sullivan family has some serious drama they need to work out. Nate just so happens to get tangled up in it, as he is prone to do.


"Sully, check this out." He doesn't respond. "Sully," I whine. He still doesn't look up from his computer. _Time to bring out the big guns._ I take a deep breath. "SullySullySullySullySullySullySullySullySullySullySullySullySu-"

"What!?" he finally snaps. I don't even flinch, and I continue with my speech.

"I've been doing some research and I think I know where I want to go for my birthday present."

"Alright, let's hear it."

"I want to go to Alaska."

Sully gives me a blank stare. "Let me get this straight. I tell you that I will take you anywhere for your birthday and you say-"

"Alaska. I've never really seen snow before and I really want to see the Aurora Borealis."

"The what now?"

"The Northern Lights."

He heaves a sigh. "If that's what you really want. You know, I was really hoping you'd say the Cayman Islands or something."

"I like to keep you on your toes," I laugh.

Sully's already turned back to his computer screen. He murmurs some comeback halfheartedly, but I don't reply. It's no fun when he doesn't play along. The phone rings as I head back to my room. "Nate!" Sully calls. "Get that!"

"What's the magic word?" I ask, hand hovering over the phone.

"Now!"

"Asshole…" I mutter so he can't hear me. "Hello?"

"Hey Victor. It's Heather."

I cover the mouthpiece. "It's Heather," I sing mockingly over my shoulder. Heather is Sully's latest endeavor into the realm of love. I don't know what he sees in her, but what do I know? I'm nowhere near as experienced as he is.

"Tell her I'm busy," Sully says.

I clear my throat and drop my voice an octave. "Hey sweetie, what's up?" I say, imitating Sully.

"I really want to meet up tonight. I hope this isn't too short of notice," Heather rasps. She's a smoker, too. Birds of a feather, I guess...

"No not at all. When and where, babe?"

"Nate, give me the phone," Sully orders.

"No way," I mouth.

"Nate." He stands up and makes a move towards me.

I back up into the kitchen, laughing silently. "Putter's at 8?" she offers.

"Putter's at 8?" I repeat. Sully lunges for me and I twist away. He grabs me around the waist and lifts me into the air. I go limp in his arms, becoming dead weight. He's forced to drop me.

I exhale sharply as I hit the ground. "Is everything okay over there?" Heather asks.

"Yeah, I'm good. The storm must be messing with the signal."

"Storm? It's clear over here."

"Weird," I cough as Sully lays himself over my chest.

He snatches the phone from my hand, but he doesn't get off of me. I try to wiggle my arms free as he says, "I'll see you tonight, sweetheart.'

"Love you," I hear her croon.

"Yep," he says and presses the end-call button.

"Get off, Sully!" I pound my newly freed fists on his arm. He flicks my forehead, then releases me. "Why didn't you just pick up? Nobody ever calls me."

The phone rings again. "I like to keep you on your toes." He hands the phone to me and smiles.

I press the green button and answer, "Sullivan residence."

"Nate?" asks a soft, feminine voice.

"Yes, and this is…?"

"Aunt Carrol. Is Victor there?"

"Um…" I put my hand over the mouthpiece. "Are you here?" I whisper to Sully.

"Who is it?" he asks.

"Aunt Carrol."

"Oh, no, no, no. I'm, uh, busy."

"He's busy," I relay to Aunt Carrol.

"Well, could you get him? It's urgent."

"Okay, hang on." I hand the phone to Sully. "She says it's urgent."

"You would make a terrible secretary." He takes the phone from me. "Hey Sis. I heard it's _urgent_." He rolls his eyes at the word urgent. Aunt Carrol can be a little over dramatic at times. Sully narrows his eyes at her next words. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down. What happened?" His face hardens and suddenly nothing's funny anymore. He stands up and walks into the other room. "But… she didn't say anything. Why wouldn't she tell us?" I stand up and follow Sully into the next room. I try to meet his gaze, but he's too wrapped up with his little sister. He inadvertently pushes past me and walks into his room, slamming the door behind him.

I sit in the living room waiting for him to reemerge. Usually, I'd try to come up with some way to annoy him enough to make him tell me what's up, but this is different. Something is seriously wrong. Finally, I hear the door open. I turn in my seat in time to see him lean against the door frame and pinch the bridge of his nose. "Sully?" No response. "Everything okay?" He shakes his head no. "What happened?"

"It's my mother. She's… she's very sick. Or, she _was_ , I guess. She just-" He sighs deeply. "She just died."

My heart wrenches. "Grandma?"

"Yeah." His voice breaks a little. It's barely detectable, but it's there. "She's had breast cancer for two years, but she didn't tell us."

"Oh, Sully, I'm so sorry." I stand, but my feet stay planted where they are. I don't know how to comfort him. We're not the touchy-feely type, but he looks like he could use a hug. No, he's not sobbing or collapsed on the ground, but he looks shaken.

"The funeral is on Friday, but I want to get there before that to help Carrol plan," he says. "Pack a few sets of clothes, underwear, etc. We'll leave tomorrow morning."

"Okay." I don't want to remind him that Friday is the day we were supposed to leave for our trip, but I can't let him miss his mother's funeral.

I finish packing my duffel and walk out into the living room where Sully's sitting on the couch watching _Casablanca_. It's one of his favorite movies. He could probably repeat the entire script to you. As soon as I sit next to him, he says, "Bedtime, kid."

"But it's only 8:30."

"Don't talk back to me," he snaps. "Get your ass off the couch and into bed."

"Um, sure." I jump off the couch and head back to my room. He only ever yells at me when we're getting shot at. I can't yell back, so I just follow instructions and lay in bed. I keep my reading light on and sketch in my notebook. I draw reference from Sully and his mother. I met her twice before: once when Sully and I needed a place to lay low for a little while and once when I forced Sully to accept her invitation to Thanksgiving dinner. She was unbelievably kind to me, including me as a family member even though I'm not actually a Sullivan. She even insisted I call her Grandma. At around 11, I turn off my light and close my eyes, trying not to worry about Sully.

The next morning I carry my duffel bag to the front door. As I sit down at the table to tie my shoes, Sully asks, "And where do you think you're going, kid?"

"The funeral."

"No, you're not. You will stay here until I get back."

"But you said for me to pack a bag."

"I did?" I nod. "Huh. Well, I'm changing my mind."

"But I really want to go. She was my grandmother."

"No she wasn't."

"Well, not technically, but she told me to call her that. I have no frame of reference, but she seemed to act pretty grandmotherly towards me." Sully's brow softens. "And besides, you need backup with your dad."

He chuckles making me smile. "True. No offence, kid, but the only person he hates more than me is you."

"He doesn't hate you, Sully." He gives me a look. "Okay, maybe a little," I concede.

"Maybe a lot." We crack up and things are back to normal between us. "Come on, let's get out of here. Carrol will freak if we're late."

Aunt Carrol lives in Pennsylvania, so it takes a few hours to get there. Our road trips are usually a lot of fun, but this one is generally pretty quiet. I read most of the way instead of joking around with Sully. I'm starting to get more worried about him, but he won't talk about what's bothering him. I think I read somewhere that holding in your emotions is a bad idea. Something about insanity...

Jack answers the door. He asks us to come in and take off our shoes. His mom doesn't like messes. Aunt Carrol begins sobbing when she sees Sully. She pulls him into a hug, much to Sully's dismay. Jack leans over to me and whispers, "Mom's been really upset about the whole thing. Grandpa won't come out of his room. Blake and I are good, though. Do you want to play Halo with us?"

"Um…" I sneak a glance at Sully and Aunt Carrol. They're wandering into the next room, talking quietly. I guess I should leave them be. "Sure. I call Blue!"

Blake is my age, 15, and Jack is two years younger. We're good friends, even though we don't see each other often. Sully and I are usually too busy to visit.

Aunt Carrol calls us for dinner at 6:00. I sit next to Sully at the table. He seems distracted. The table is quiet. Jack speaks up first. "Where's Grandpa?"

"Upstairs," Aunt Carrol answers, spooning out rice for her sons. The Sullivan's are not chefs. She ordered Chinese food, just like Sully does.

"Doesn't he want dinner?" Jack wonders.

"I'm sure he's just napping. He can eat later."

"But-"

"Jack, that's enough."

Sully picks at his food. I nudge his arm lightly. He blinks away his thoughts and looks down at me. Using my eyes, I ask him if he's okay. He smiles and rubs my head. I can practically hear him telling me not to worry about him.

We were going to stay at a nearby hotel, but Aunt Carol insists on us staying at her house. Sully and I take Blake and Jack's room and they are relocated to the couch. Aunt Carrol's husband was away for work, but as soon as he heard what happened, he started on his way back. He'll be home tomorrow. Sully makes me go to sleep without letting me read or draw, mostly because he needs his sleep. I lay awake for hours listening to Sully snore. _At least he's not thinking about his mom_ , I think to myself, staring at the ceiling.

At 1:00, I finally give up and slip out of the room. I sneak downstairs and head towards the kitchen. My mouth is so dry. I need water. I stop in my tracks as I see someone standing in the glow of the open fridge. "Hi Mr. Sullivan." Unlike his wife, he would rather me not call him Grandpa. He yelled at Sully for taking in a stray the last time we were here. I was surprised when Sully didn't say a word in retaliation. He just got redder and redder, silently seething until his father stormed out of the room.

Mr. Sullivan looks down his nose at me. "Nathan. What are you doing up?"

"Maybe I should be asking you that, ha ha." He's not amused. I change my tactic from deflecting with humor to telling the truth. "Uh, I couldn't sleep so I'm getting a glass of water."

"Why can't you sleep?"

"I'm just a light sleeper."

"Well, you shouldn't be up this late wandering the house."

"Okay, well, I'll get my water and go."

"You can live for three days without water. Go back upstairs."

I really should just go upstairs and not make a scene, but… "Why can't I get a drink?"

"Because I said so."

"Why do I have to do what you say?"

"Because I said so. Have some respect, boy."

 _Uh-oh_. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Do I have to drag you up there?" He draws himself up to his full stature. Now I know where Sully gets his figure. He's not as muscular as his son, but the power is definitely there.

"I didn't mean any disrespect, Mr. Sullivan." I force my eyes to look at the ground. God, I hate backing down, but I don't want to get in trouble and take away from Grandma's day.

"Then git, you little scamp," he spits.

"Sorry to get in your way."

And then I have to go and blow it.

I bow dramatically and say, "Your Majesty."

Mr. Sullivan growls and yanks up on the collar of my shirt. I squeak when he slaps me across the face. "You think you're smart, huh? You think you're special because Victor picked you out of the pile of filth you called home? Well, you're not." He pulls on my ear. Hard. "You listening, boy? You will never amount to anything. You were born in shit and you will die in shit."

"I'll do whatever I set my mind to," I say, trying to pry his hands off me.

He pulls my ear harder and twists. I bite my tongue to stay silent. "And who told you that load of nonsense? Your _pal_ Victor? He's filling your head with lies and-"

"Grandpa?" Blake mutters from the doorway. Thankfully, it looks like he's still groggy from just waking up. "What's going on?"

Mr. Sullivan lets go of my ear. "We're just getting a drink, right Nathan?"

"Mm hm. Well, I'm going back upstairs. Good night." I turn around and quickly walk out into the foyer and tiptoe-run up the stairs. I slip into Blake and Jack's room and jump under the covers. My heart is still pounding, but I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Nate? You up?"

I flinch at the rough voice, thinking Mr. Sullivan had followed me, but I quickly realize it's a more friendly Sullivan. "Yeah, Sully. Are you okay? You seemed a little… distant at dinner."

"No, I'm good, kid. Were you downstairs?"

"Yeah. I was getting a glass of water."

"Then where is it?"

"I, uh, drank it in the kitchen."

"Oh, okay. Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm always like that."

"Bad dreams?"

"You know me so well," I sigh.

"I used to be like that, you know. When I was little, my mom would come into my room and just talk to me until I forgot about whatever was ailing me."

"What would you talk about?"

"Anything and everything. She would stay with me until I fell asleep, stroking my hair."

"My mom would do that, too. When my dad wasn't in the mood for… her, she'd come into my room and sing and sing and sing. She had the most amazing voice. It always sounded like she was in a grand hall, not our dingy little shack."

"Do you miss her?" he asks quietly.

"Sometimes. It hurt for a while, but it eventually dulled." I roll over to face his bed. "It'll be okay, Sully."

He laughs softly. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Alrighty then. Goodnight."

"'Night, kid."

I lay on my back so I don't have to press the bruise from Mr. Sullivan's slap on my face to the pillow. Twenty minutes later, snores drift from Sully's bed again. I fade in and out of sleep for the rest of the night.

The next morning I walk downstairs just behind Sully in case his dad is already down there. Aunt Carrol's already heated up frozen bacon and biscuits, but I decide to add a little something more to the table. I search for ingredients, then mix up some pancake batter. Everyone applauds my cooking. "Where'd you learn how to do this?" Aunt Carrol asks, pouring syrup on her stack. "Because I'm sure Victor didn't teach you."

We all laugh at Sully's expense. I then answer more truthfully than I normally would. I figure someone should know my story, and it's not like Sully's family is going to use the information as some sort of blackmail. "I used to live in a boys' home and I was stationed in the kitchen most of the time."

"In other words, an orphanage," states Mr. Sullivan, strolling into the room. Sully stiffens next to me. "Not surprising. What happened to your parents?"

"Dad, it's nine in the morning," Sully mutters. "It's too early for this."

"Sully, I don't really mind. It's not a big deal," I whisper.

"It is a big deal. That is your personal history. You shouldn't have to share that." He suddenly squints and peers closely at my face. I try to turn away, but he grabs my chin. "Where'd you get this bruise?"

"Bruise?" I feel my face pretending to be oblivious.

"It looks like you got punched." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he turns to look at his father. "Do you have anything to do with this?"

Aunt Carrol and her kids stand up and leave the table as if they know what's coming. I try to join them, but Sully calls me back. "Yes, I gave him that bruise," Mr. Sullivan confirms coolly.

"You hit him?" Sully's face is getting redder by the second. From my experiences with him, red=angry. This is not going to end well.

"I was disciplining him, something you don't seem to do enough of."

"Disciplining? For what?"

"Using that little smart mouth of his. I'm doing him a favor. He's gonna get in a lot of trouble for back talking later in life."

"That is not your call to make. He is _my_ responsibility, understand?"

"Do not talk down to your father."

"I don't care if you're the goddamn king of England! You lay a hand on him again and I will beat you to a pulp."

"Why do you care so much about him?" his dad asks quietly. "Are you compensating for something? Guilt perhaps?"

"Dad," Sully warns.

"Guilt over Jason?"

"Dad, stop it."

"Your _brother_? The one you could've _saved_?"

"There was nothing I could have done-"

"Excuses! That's all you ever give me! You think taking in this little rat is going to amend anything?" He turns to me. "You're a distraction. That's all you are to him."

"Don't drag him into this!" Sully shouts.

"I am your father. I can-"

"No, you can't! He's my son, not yours!"

"Oh, so now he's your son?"

"JASON DIDN'T DIE TO SAVE ME!" Sully screams.

Mr. Sullivan blinks. "Wh-what… What do you mean?"

"Yeah, your precious Jason wasn't so perfect after all. He got himself captured. They told him they'd spare him if he told them our plan of attack. He told them everything to save his own skin, then they killed him."

"But you told me-"

"He took a bullet for me? I only told you that so you wouldn't hate him. You ended up hating me even more than you did before." Sully drops into his seat and sighs.

"Hate you?" Mr. Sullivan frowns. He looks genuinely confused and a little upset. "I've never hated you, Vic."

"Like hell you haven't. Jason was always your favorite. How could I live up to my big brother? First string quarterback freshman year, Naval Academy graduate, and so on and so forth. And I know Mom loved Carrol most, but at least she still loved me. But you… you never came to my games, you never read with me, you told me to suck it up when I broke my leg hiking…"

My heart pulls. I only had to deal with my dad for five years. Sully's had to put up with his father for his entire life. I put a hand on his shoulder. He reassures me with a small smile then scruffs up my hair, making me laugh.

Mr. Sullivan looks at the two of us and sighs. "I'm sorry, son. All I can say is you're already a better father than I ever was," he says, walking out the door.

"Wait, Dad!" Sully calls to no avail. He groans and runs his hand through his hair. "Damn, I should really go talk to him."

"Then go," I offer. "I won't mind. I'll go play Halo with Blake and Jack."

"I've got a better idea. Let's go to Hershey Park. It's right down the road."

"But your dad-"

"I can talk to him tonight. Besides, I need a break from all this." He sweeps his arm, gesturing to the entire room. "And I'm sorry he hit you, kid. He used to slap me, too. That's how I knew were the bruise was from. They used to look like that."

"This isn't that bad. My dad wasn't the best either. He wasn't very nice to me or my mother." Sully's eyebrows knit in curiosity. I take a deep breath. If I'm planning to tell him about my family, I may as well do it now. "He was sort of… well, abusive. Both physically and emotionally. It drove my mother to commit suicide then he gave me up and that was that."

Sully squeezes his eyes shut and heaves a sigh. I almost start to regret my decision to tell, but he quickly changes my mind. "Well…" He claps me on the shoulder. "Looks like we have something in common. A dead mother and a terrible father." And for some reason, that's funny. That's really, really funny after all that emotional shit.

We laugh loudly and obnoxiously, then get up and drive down to Hershey Park. Sully rides a few rollercoasters with me, even though he's terrified of them (I guess even Victor "Goddamn" Sullivan is scared of something). He's the best. I can't imagine having a better mentor or friend. It just kind of sucks he couldn't have a father like I do.


End file.
